


Feet Of Clay (The Iconoclasts Remix)

by foldingcranes



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War II (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: Even if Steve didn’t believe Tony was capable enough, even if Steve didn’t trust Tony enough to be sober, Tony would make sure that no harm came to him and Miles.It was the least he could do.





	Feet Of Clay (The Iconoclasts Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/gifts).



> This is a remix of Woad's wonderful fic, [Iconoclasts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8658175).

**IV**

 

As the wound on Tony’s side bled, as the sound of sirens buzzed in the air and Miles wept, Tony closed his eyes and waited. He had done his part, he had protected Steve and avoided Miles’ detainment at Carol’s hands.

Finally, after so many mistakes, Tony had managed to do something right. He could go in peace now and dream that in another life, in another world, things could be easier.

In another life, in another world, maybe he could be the person Steve had wanted him to be.

Steve held Tony’s hand as they waited for first responders to come and help them.

There was no warmth in Steve’s face. No gratitude or love.

Only satisfaction.

It pierced through Tony’s heart and scared him until darkness took its hold over him and he knew no more.

_Who are you, who are you, who are you—_

 

**III**

 

“When was your last drink?”

Tony crumbled, failing to put on a stoic front and appear whole in front of Steve. Gone was the trust that he had been craving so much, the delicately fragile thing that they had been building together.

Gone was Steve’s faith in Tony. Again. Faster than a drink.

Tony gritted his teeth to stop himself from grieving for something that never was. Something that never would exist again. Something that wasn’t ever allowed to grow and only festered, again and again, until they were back to the bitter roots of their strained relationship.

(It wasn’t always like this.)

Even if Steve didn’t believe Tony was capable enough, even if Steve didn’t trust Tony enough to be sober, Tony would make sure that no harm came to him and Miles.

It was the least he could do.

“Tony,” Steve called out to him, snapping Tony back to reality. “I don’t mean to— I thought things would be different this time.”

Steve shook his head, visibly disappointed.

It was all too much. _Tony was too much_.

This war was slowly tearing him apart and he had the feeling that Steve would never be able to handle that.

Tony should have seen this coming.

Once Steve left the rooftop, Tony lowered his head and clenched his fists, swallowing down the panic and grief. Fighting against the ache in his chest.

 

**II**

 

Steve’s sheets were soft and clean and smelled like home. For Tony, it was easy to just close his eyes and lie there and forget, only for a moment, that it had been years since the last time they shared a bed.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” Steve’s sleepy voice came from behind him, surrounding him in a tight embrace, his arms circling Tony’s waist and hands resting on top of his abs.

Tony smiled. A subtle, small thing. A gesture that still trembled with uncertainty, as if he were to wake up from a nice dream to find himself lonely and cold, like so many times before.

“It’s nothing,” Tony grabbed one of Steve’s hands, planting a kiss on his knuckles and sighing deeply. “Go back to sleep, we have a meeting tomorrow.”

A kiss was pressed against the back of Tony’s neck, and he turned towards Steve, facing him. He rested his forehead against Steve’s and looked into his calm eyes, still disbelieving. ( _He’s back, he’s back and he’s with me and believes in me again—_.)

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing, Steve?” Tony thought about it, deep into the night, when the weight of his choices threatened to crush him. He thought about loving Carol deeply, of standing beside her in moments of personal need. Of holding her hand through a common sort of grief, both of them always looking over their shoulder and fearing the shadows looming around addiction and loss.

Steve made a contemplative noise, a torn look crossing his eyes as he settled himself more comfortably snug against Tony’s body. Tony rested his forehead on Steve’s collarbone now that he faced him in their embrace, and Steve’s hand came to bury itself into his hair, massaging gently.

“Remember how you said you decided to listen to me?” Steve asked.

Tony holds his breath for a brief period of time, heart beating faster. “Yeah.”

“Well, I chose to believe in you. I know you, Tony. Even if you’re mourning, even if you’re angry—I know you’re just trying to protect us.”

_Just trying to protect us._

Tony scrunched his eyes closed tightly, plastering his face against Steve’s warm skin. Holding back tears.

“I’m so fucking glad,” he mumbled. “I’m so fucking glad we’re on the same side again.”

Steve smiled gently.

“We’ll fix this mess, Tony.”

 

**I**

 

“I promised you I’d trust you this time,” Tony said, standing over the rooftop, their usual meeting spot, and looking over the city calmly. He was still raw over Rhodey’s death—a constant, painful ache that clawed its way across his chest and nestled there, making every heartbeat and every breath harder. “This is me. Trusting you. I want you to guide us.”

He spread his hands, fingers splayed and palms open and Steve—

Steve did something Tony thought he wouldn’t ever get to experience again.

He cradled Tony’s hands between his. Lovingly. Tenderly.

There was a certain patience in Steve’s eyes that Tony had missed desperately.

“I know. That’s why I came here tonight,” he’s not smiling, concern etched onto his brow, lips slightly turned down. Still, Steve’s whole presence radiated a gentleness that soothed over the pulsing wound in Tony’s chest. “I know you’re on my side.”

“You do?” Tony blinked, actually surprised. “You believe me?”

Steve nodded. “Tony. You said it yourself. You said you were going to listen to me this time. And I’m choosing to believe in you.”

Sighing, eyes fixed on Tony before lowering his head in shame, Steve’s fingers squeezed softly.

There was a lump taking place inside Tony’s throat, almost choking him. A tremble in his cold fingers, his thumb brushing against the back of Steve’s hand. “Steve, I-- _God_ , Steve. I don’t think I can’t do this without you.”

 _It’s killing me_ , rested at the tip of his tongue. _I can’t do this again_.

He’d rather choke than fight against Steve again. Tony was done with that.

“I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice low. Tony raised his head to look at him again and allowed himself to smile.

“I’ve missed you too.”

For the first time in a long while, Tony felt hope again.


End file.
